Cones Invested
by ultravi0lable
Summary: Bro probably spoils Dave too much, but does it really matter? Baby Dave. Angsty Bro.


You can't really pinpoint the exact moment Dave started getting everything he wanted. It happened little by little, bit by bit, until you had created a monster; a chubby, cute monster, but a monster nonetheless. Maybe it happened when you were too tired to fight with him over the candy bar on the way home from school, or the day you took him to the park and agreed to play pony for a good hour while other parents looked on in amusement. You wished you could go back to whenever it was and correct your mistake, you could suffer through his wet tears to prevent the attitude he presents you now.

It's not every day you get to hang out with Dave like this. Your shift is long and taxing, and by the time you get home in the morning you barely see him before he's off to school. At eight, he's independent enough that you no longer hire the old lady from the floor below yours to camp on the futon all night, but not old enough you don't worry about his safety all the time you're gone. If you thought you could afford her watchful eye once more, things would be different and you could relax a little more at your gigs, but that wasn't how things were. They'd probably never get that way, either, with school becoming progressively more expensive and Dave getting a little taller.

It's funny how the very thing that forced you to drop high school made you wish you'd graduated so much more.

Dave breaks your reverie with a scowl and a tiny kick under the table.

"What'd you say, man?" Your shirt is too small from a bad run through the Laundromat dryer and the collar rubs against your neck in a decidedly uncomfortable way.

"I want ice cream." Look at that face. You feel like slapping him. Not even a "Please, Bro?" No, it wasn't even a question. Now was the time to tell him what was up. Don't let him win. Teach the kid a lesso-

"Sure." You flick a dollar across the table and watch the lil' fucker as he scampers off towards the counter.

Fuck.

That night you scoop him off the futon where he was tucked against your side and into his own bed. You watch as he kicks the sheets off and destroys your careful handiwork because it's too hot for him in his sleeper. Dave lets slip a peaceful sigh. There's a little bit of ice cream smeared high on his left cheekbone, and you think maybe it's okay. It's okay if you spoiled him just this once, because maybe he wasn't really that aggravating at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

You knew it had been coming. It didn't creep up on you, no sir, no stealth involved. Dave had been watching Old Yeller almost incessantly for two weeks, he might as well have been dragging an elephant around the house with him. This little outburst had come complete with an army of red flags and fanfare pouring out the ass, but your back still stiffened and your jaw still clenched when he finally confronted you.

"You want what?"

"A pet. I want a dog. Geez, Bro, you deaf?" Now normally it was easy for you to ignore his quips, his little "I've-been-watching-too-much-Disney-channel" lines, but this? His request paired with the sass was more than you could handle, and you turn away from the groceries you'd been loading into the fridge.

"Do you hear yourself, kid? What the fuck do you think you're asking? Do you even know where you live?" It wasn't often you raised your voice at him, but this was too much. Dave's eyebrows raised and he backed up a step, his sneakers scuffing the linoleum a little more. "Where do you want me to pull this magical puppy from? My ass?"

Another step, but his voice barely wavered as he delivered his next line. "C'mon, Bro. No one will even notice he's here. It's not like we can't afford it."

Well, shit. This kid is completely clueless, you realize. You did your job too well. He has no idea whatsoever of how shitty his apartment is. He doesn't know that kids his age get new shoes, never before worn. He doesn't understand the concept of a car versus the city bus, of working all night, prickling fingers aching from a second job, hundreds of dollars invested in babysitting and school, the fear of not being able to feed your kid, of someone ratting you out, of losing everything, your home, your baby fucking brother who was still sitting there with that smarmy-ass look on his face-

You crouch down to his level and look him right in the eye over your rad specs so this little shit can see how serious you really are.

"Kid, I will decide what we can and cannot afford, and right now I am telling you straight up that there is no way in hell I am buying you a puppy. Got it?"

"But Bro-!" The urgency in his voice broke your heart a little, but at the same time the snotty look on his face made you regret every ice cream cone ever invested in this tiny ball of indignant rage.

"Shut up, lil' man. It's definitely time you went to your room. " You turn back to discarding plastic bags and ignore the growl behind you and the harsh slam of the bedroom door. Dave knew he wasn't allowed to slam doors. Damnit, it set you on edge. Your throat constricts and you finish up as quickly as possible. You needed a smoke. Bad.

By the time you had finished your cigarette, gray tendrils of smoke curling up into the auburn afternoon sun, Dave had quieted in his room. When you peek in, he's asleep on the bed, tear streaks slowly drying up on pudgy cheeks where his platinum blond locks stick to his face.

Fuck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

You weren't expecting anything from Dave when you came home from work two days later, shoulders sagging and keys dropped on the counter with tired hands. You will vehemently deny, if asked, the yelp that you definitely didn't make when little arms wrapped around your legs as you searched the cupboard for a clean glass to drink out of. No, you hardly cared at all when they let go after a brief moment and you turned around to see Dave with his back to you, focused on feeding the two goldfish buzzing around happily in an old vase on the counter. You watch him try to ignore you as you ruffle his hair on your way towards the futon and you think, maybe it's okay. The meals you skipped and the extra hours mopping puke off the floor in the club bathrooms were okay. They were worth it, they just didn't matter. Not when Dave actually came over to say goodbye to you before leaving for school. The apartment door clicked shut gently behind him.

You fall asleep to the rumbling groan that the air conditioning unit makes as it picks up.


End file.
